


he'd been with me

by Mertiya



Series: Mundane Outliers [1]
Category: Everyday Abnormal
Genre: Anal Sex, And I know the sex is really unrealistic, But I couldn't make it bad, Canon Compliant, Christianity, First Time, Grief/Mourning, I couldn't do that to them, Judaism, M/M, Missing Scene, Of course they had sex in Colin's car, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 10:51:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14353950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya/pseuds/Mertiya
Summary: Rhine mourns the boyfriend he never quite had.





	he'd been with me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zomburai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zomburai/gifts).



> Fanfic of Zomburai's EXCELLENT (but warning it's on hiatus) webcomic, Everyday Abnormal. He killed off a character and I just HAD to show him the error of his ways. Also practice with juxtaposition.

**Day 7** _._ It’s raining, which is appropriate. At least the weather is cooperating, Rhine thinks miserably, as he lurks behind a tree just outside the low, spike-topped wall of the Harvest Baptist Church Cemetery. Not that he’s supposed to be there. He’s managed to find a black suit to wear, but considering he’d last worn it while he was still struggling to play in orchestra freshman year pre-major-growth-spurt, it’s too short in the sleeves and the ankles, too tight in the crotch, and about as comfortable as the entire rest of the situation. So, kind of appropriate, all things considered.

            He wonders vaguely if there’s actually anything worse than hiding from the mourners at a Christian guy’s funeral, when you’re a) Jewish, b) gay, and c) totally probably would have been his boyfriend if he hadn’t died the week after you first hooked up. It sounds like the beginning of a joke, but it’s not. It’s his goddamn life, and it really, really sucks.

            They’ve gotten to the point in the service when people are talking about the deceased. Words are getting thrown around like “good Christian boy” and “kind to everyone” and “captain of the football team” and “head of our church’s youth group” and Rhine is possessed by this dumb urge to stand up and shout “he also gave great head,” which, thanks for that, brain. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Also, he might not actually be able to make that testimonial, because it’s not like he has a lot of experience, is it?

 

 **Day -2.** “Hey.”

            “Um, hey.” Rhine blushes, wiping the sweat off of his pants. Colin looks so cool right now, leaning against the side of his car as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. His hair naturally has this kind of perfect part to it, and Rhine tries not to be too creepy about the way his eyes trail up along those well-filled-out biceps. Jesus. What does Colin see in him? He’s scrawny, he has too much acne, and he deliberately wears the blandest clothing he can, because if there’s one thing he doesn’t want, it’s people noticing him. “So, um.”

            Colin’s eyes dart nervously towards the church. According to him, it’s half an hour after Youth Group got out, but Rhine appreciates why he might still be kind of cautious. “Let’s get in the car,” Colin says, hunching his shoulders forward a little.

            “Yeah!” Rhine agrees, then wonders if he sounds a little too thirsty. “I mean, I mean, I get why you want to—um. I mean.”

            Colin blushes a little and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he says abruptly. “I know this isn’t fair to you. I wish I—it’s just for a little while, I promise.”

            “Dude.” Rhine lets Colin steer him into the car, internally fanning himself a little at the touch of Colin’s broad hand on his shoulder. “You do not need to be sorry. I get it. If I could get back in the closet until I was out of high school, I would do it in a heartbeat. Jesus, the fact you’re even—” willing to risk being seen with me “—look. I get it. I get it so hard.”

            “Yeah, well.” Colin slides in beside him and shuts the car door. “I’m still sorry.”

            “Quarter for the apology jar,” Rhine snarks, then slides nervously towards Colin. They’ve only done this a few times before, and he’s still afraid he’s going to do something wrong or fuck it up somehow.

            Colin smiles and nods. “You are amazing,” he says, and how does he manage to say that with such perfect sincerity?

            “Shut up before I melt into a puddle,” Rhine tells him, and then he takes a deep breath and leans forward. Colin meets him halfway, and in a few minutes, Rhine’s in Colin’s lap, and Colin’s hands are on his ass, then sliding up under his shirt. Kissing Colin still feels like sparks crawling under Rhine’s skin, and he whines, hitching his hips against Colin’s.

            “Oh, god,” Colin mutters into his mouth. “Oh, fuck. _Fuck_.” Rhine grinds against him, and then reaches for his belt.

            “Um—can I—”

            “Nnnn— _Rhine_ —hold on—just a sec—”

            Rhine stops right away, jerking his hand back. “Sorry—s-sorry.”

            “No—you’re fine, I just.” Colin takes a deep breath and looks up at him. “I, um, I brought condoms?”

            “Holy _shit_ ,” Rhine says in wonder as Colin reaches under the back seat and pulls out two little foil-covered packets.

            “If it’s okay? I mean we’d been talking about maybe going farther…”

            “It is so okay.” Rhine swallows hard. “I just. I wasn’t exactly expecting—I mean I guess I hadn’t thought much about—”

            “Yeah.” Colin rubs a hand through his hair. “I know the school’s sex ed isn’t that great, and I’ve never been with anyone before, but—I don’t know. I wanted to do it right?”

            “That’s—” He’s blinking really hard suddenly. Dumb. It’s dumb. Isn’t this supposed to be the opposite of romantic? But it doesn’t feel like that. It feels like Colin is being _careful_ with him. Rhine’s not used to people being careful with him. “Um, that’s cool. I’m glad you’re so prepared.”

            “Well, I am a boy scout.”

            Sputtering with nervous laughter, Rhine has to bend forward, pressing his forehead into Colin’s and taking a long, deep breath. “Okay,” he says. “So, is this going to be, like, uh. Is there going to be actual. Um. Dick-in-someone-else action? There doesn’t have to be!”

            Colin takes an equally long, deep breath. “I did a little research last night,” he says, and he’s still looking straight at Rhine. Rhine almost wants to look away, but he won’t; he can’t. Colin’s eyes are very blue, and the pupils are dilated, making them look darker.

            “I—I’m not sure—if I can—” Rhine squeezes out. “Like, I know what the kids at school have said about me, but I’ve never actually been with anybody either, and it sounds kind of scary? Also, you might break me in half. You’re kind of. Big?”

            Colin snorts out a laugh, although he’s going red in the face. “Yeah, I thought of that. I, uh, I put a couple fingers up—there—last night, and it wasn’t too bad with a lot of lube, so I figured you could, uh, do me?”

            Wellp. Rhine is _this close_ to coming in his pants. “I—if you’re okay with that,” he finally squeaks.

            “I want to,” Colin says firmly. “I want to, with you.” He reaches down to the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it off over his head, so Rhine’s staring at his broad chest and muscled arms. God, he has the most perfect body _ever_.

           

            **Day 7.** At least Colin’s body is intact. There’s a physical object to lay in the ground. Rhine doesn’t know why that makes him feel better. He’s not entirely sure that it should. He’s crying, at least, which is good. It’s the first time he’s been able to cry since he heard the news.

 

            **Day 0.** He’s at his locker, wondering where Colin is. They don’t exchange a lot of words at school right now—Colin’s not ready to be officially out, although there’ve been some ugly rumors going around lately. None linking the two of them, though, thankfully. It’s so much more deniable if it’s not true.

            Anyways, even if he can’t talk to Colin, it’s nice to see him around, paling around with his football buddies, looking—happy. Their secret’s a little piece of warmth piled up in Rhine’s chest. Maybe he should feel worse about it, but he doesn’t, he just sneaks the occasional glance at Colin’s ass when no one’s looking, or smirks a little bit whenever a girl tries to flirt with him. It gets him through the day, reminds him there’s life outside of high school—and sometimes he really, really needs that reminder.

            He grabs his math textbook, closes his locker, turns around. Later, he’s going to look back and wonder if the wave of foreboding happened before he saw the crying girl or after. He’ll never be able to decide, and it’s going to give him some of the weirder sleepless nights, because, really, it’s such a minor thing, isn’t it?

            Anyways, there’s a crying girl. Jen or Jennifer or Jenny or something. They have U.S. History together. She’s pretty nice, although he doesn’t know her very well. He knows she’s one of the cheerleaders, though. And Rhine feels—weird. Awkward. Exposed. He ought to get class, but there’s a knot of kids forming around Jen. Almost against his will, he finds himself edging towards them.

            “You’re sure?” someone is saying, sounding shocked.

            “I—I called Kelly,” sobs Jen-or-Jenny. “I just—I don’t understand. Why would someone—why would _anyone_ —Colin was one of the nicest guys at school—”

            _Thump. Bump._ Something reaches into Rhine’s chest and squeezes. His mouth’s dry. “What happened?” he blurts from the edge of the crowd. _Was_. She can’t mean that tense. She _can’t_. Jennifer (?) looks up, but her eyes don’t focus on him.

            “Someone killed Colin,” she sniffs. “They, like—I don’t know all the details, but. Like. They killed him. Why would they do that?”

            It’s like a veil of cold has dropped over the world. Rhine can’t feel his arms. Can’t feel his legs. Can’t feel anything. He’s not sure if he’s still holding his books, or if he’s dropped them. It’s got to be a mistake. It’s got to be—someone playing a prank, or—

            Something turns him around, takes him back to his locker. Someone, using his hands, carefully turns the dial left-thirty-two-right-zero-eight-left-thirty-five. Turns out he is still holding his book. Someone puts them down in his locker, gets out his cell phone, and dials a number he’s never called before but he has saved for emergencies. It rings four times, and then a tearful female voice answers.

            “This is Kelly Shaughnessy, if this is another reporter—”

            “No—I’m—please, Kelly, I just—I just need to know, I’m not a reporter, my name’s Rhine, and I’m Colin’s, I’m—I’m—”

            Shocked inhalation. “Oh, my god, I didn’t know he—”

            “ _Please_. Just tell me. Is he okay?”

            There’s a long, long, long silence on the other end of the phone. Rhine thinks she’s hung up. He’s starting to feel dizzy.

            “No,” he hears, and her voice is almost quiet. “He’s not okay. Someone—someone—they c-c-cut h-h-his ankles, and h-h-his—h-h-his—the police said ‘exsanguination’, he bled to death, he—oh, god—I’m sorry, I can’t do this—” _Call ended._

Rhine’s breath leaves his lungs in one huge swoop. He stands at his locker and stares at his phone. He needs to go to class. Can’t be late. Right. Class. Class is a thing he needs to go to. Someone helpfully gets him to put his phone away in his locker and get his books again.

            He doesn’t seem to learn much. It’s difficult to concentrate. It’s just—it’s too big. He keeps trying to turn the thought over in his head. _Colin’s dead. Someone killed him_. But it doesn’t seem real. It’s like he’s repeating the episode summary for a Law and Order episode or something. Sometime around lunchtime, he realizes he’s probably asleep and having a nightmare. The thought cheers him up until he gets home and realizes he didn’t eat lunch and he’s hungry. You don’t really get hungry when you’re dreaming.

            He has some peanut butter and crackers, because you’re supposed to eat when you’re hungry. Then he looks up exsanguination, which seems morbid, but otherwise he’s just going to be wondering and wondering. It’s fast, it turns out, at least it’s fast if they did it right. If they cut the arteries and not the veins; Colin would have blacked out very quickly. Maybe not even known what was happening. Except that’s only if he didn’t know what was happening before it happened. Just a few minutes of panic _after_ , but how many before? Was he awake? Did he know his attackers? _Fuck_. Rhine slams the laptop shut and covers his eyes.

            His stomach heaves, and someone gets him up and into his bathroom, so he can throw up into the toilet instead of on his floor. After the first time, he sticks his finger down his throat and makes himself throw up again. He’s not exactly sure why.

            After about half an hour, his mother’s knocking on the door, wanting to know if he’s feeling all right. He tells her he’s okay, he’ll be down for dinner in a bit. He’s not sure why he says that, either. He _shouldn’t_ be all right, but everything is so vague and cold and strange. He hasn’t eaten much all day, so maybe that’s why.

            He’s probably too quiet at dinner, but it’s just hard to be engaged. He says he’s tired and heads to bed right away. At least he doesn’t throw up again. He falls asleep fast, too. And then his alarm’s blaring next to his head, and Colin’s still dead, and he has to get up and go to school. Right.

 

            **Day 7.** “Dear Lord, you are the father of all mercies who cares for all your people with an everlasting love. You are the God of all comfort who consoles all those that are suffering the death of a loved one. You are the God of all peace who has promised to pour your perfect peace into the hearts of your children who are going through the pain and suffering that the loss of a precious loved one brings,” the preacher is saying.

            Rhine’s crying harder now, he’s crying so hard that he thinks he’s going to choke, so he starts reciting his own prayer. “ _Yitgadal v'yitkadash sh'mei raba.”_ Colin. _Fuck_. And it was so stupid, too. All of them, just dumb kids, trying to do a _dumb_ ritual. _“B'alma di v'ra chirutei,_ ” the words, at least, are easy on his tongue, “ _yamlich malchutei, b'chayeichon uv'yomeichonuv'chayei d'chol beit Yisrael,baagala uviz'man kariv.”_ He presses himself against the tree at his back, and his voice is shaking, but he’s trying to stay quiet. It’s no good if he gets himself thrown out. “ _V'im'ru: Amen.”_

 _G-d_ , he adds, in his head, still sobbing into his cupped hands. Then, out loud again, “I wish you hadn’t died.”

           

            **Day 1.** _“We can make whatever you want come true.”_

_“Trust me, that’s not possible.”_

            Rhine stares out of the car window while his brain vaguely tries to run through suggestions for What To Do Next. He should probably not just be sitting here. He’s pretty sure he just got kidnapped by a bunch of creepy D&D nerds. The kind that make Darkest Dungeons look like a reality TV show, if that’s even possible. Ever since they approached him in school, his brain’s been skipping around a lot. It could all be unrelated, but they’re doing some creepy ritual, right? And creepy rituals tend to along with unspeakable rites, like exsanguinating someone. It’d be pretty weird for the two things to be unrelated, really.

            He stares at his faint reflection in the window. Pretty weird, yeah. So why hasn’t he run screaming, yet? He really _should_. He could maybe open the car door—they’re not going that fast—he could get out on the street. Twenty miles an hour, it’s not like he’d die from it. But he’d never find out, then, would he? He’d never know _why_.

 

 **Day 1, cont.** _“A virgin’s blood.”_

_“Wait a minute, did you say—”_

**Day -2.** “ _Ah_ — _fuck_ —Rhine—”

            “Are you okay, I’m not—I’m not hurting you, am I?”

            “You’re fucking kidding me, man.” Colin’s staring up from his awkward position in the back seat. Rhine’s in between his legs, trying to count backwards from fifty because oh god it’s going to be _really_ embarrassing if he comes after, like, thirty seconds.

            “Wh-What?” he pants.

            “ _No_ , you are not hurting me, you dumb dork,” Colin says. “ _Do that again_.”

“O-Okay.” Rhine shifts, braces himself against Colin’s shoulders (tries not to actually drool on Colin’s really, really, very nice shoulders) and starts to move again, slowly. He knows he’s not going to last that long, definitely not long _enough_ (eternity might be enough, he should try for eternity someday, maybe they could go for eternity on a weekend?), but Colin’s large hands are on his hips, rocking him forward, pulling him further inside, into the slick heat of Colin, into—

            Rhine whines and bites his lip and moves. Colin gasps and swears underneath him. His hands tighten, just a little bit, and oh no, it’s too much, it’s too much, it’s too—he chokes out something that’s totally strangled and incoherent as he tries to just—just—hold on a little bit—longer—

 

            **Day 1.** “ _Aaaaagghhfuuuuuucckk—_ ” He’s on the ground, trembling at the pain of—something—having been ripped out of him. Like someone’s reached in and stripped him of the most precious thing he had left. There are tears on his face, someone’s hands on his back. He should probably be paying attention to the thudding of feet on the stairs and the fact that the ritual’s nearly done, but he’s a little busy feeling stripped naked and violated.

            There’s a lot of shouting happening now, and he’s still trying to get the pieces of his brain pulled back together. Piece one: Colin is still dead. Thank you, brain. No, he didn’t need the image of Colin, naked in front of Clayton, eyes widening in terror as his blood drained from him like he was a slaughtered pig—Piece two. Whatever this ritual thing is, it is bad. It is really, really bad. He brushed against—something—as his powers were yanked out of him, and that something was _hungry_. Piece three—

            _“Kid, drop the fucking jar!”_

_“Gladly.”_

            There’s this funny moment of silence. A feeling of expectancy in the air. Whispers surge in the back of Rhine’s aching head— _ah, yes, let me feed, little mage—don’t you want him back—we can give you anything you want—it’s the end the world as you know it—darkness, emptiness beyond time—let us in, let us in—what the fuck are you guys doing—oh my G-d—_ surge and surge, rising and rising, and all the time there’s just a jar falling towards a floor, the laws of physics drawing it inexorably onwards—

            _Smash._

 

            **Day 3.** He’s going to have to clean that up, Rhine thinks vaguely. Oh, and probably go to the hospital. There’s a lot of blood. And it’s pretty much everywhere now, all over the bathroom counter, all over the remains of the mirror, and absolutely all over his hand.

            “Rhine?” Mom. Oh, shit. Oh, _shit_. What the fuck was he thinking? Oh, that hurts. And how much does a mirror cost? And seven years’ bad luck, which might actually be a _thing_? And—and he can’t— _fix_ this. Not the mirror, not the hand, not—

            “Rhine? Oh my g-d, _Rhine_ , what—”

            “Shit,” Rhine breathes. “Mom, I’m sorry—I—”

            “Oh, baby, what happened?”

            “I punched a mirror?” He stares at her. “I—I punched a mirror.”

            Mom’s hands on his shoulders. “Okay, honey, we’re going to call an ambulance, you’re going to be fine.”

            _You’re going to be fine_.

            “Mom?” Rhine says, and his voice only wavers a little bit. “I don’t think I’m fine. I don’t think—I don’t think I’m fine.” There’s so much blood.

           

 **Day 1.** The blood makes an irregular-shaped stain in the center of the circle. But it’s just blood. Sticky, red, and really surprisingly normal-looking. The whispering’s stopped, like a light-bulb being switched off. And everything makes sense in Rhine’s head, and he’s really tired. Really tired. Everyone’s shouting, and he’s just tired.

            _“Why didn’t the fucking ritual work?”_

            G-d, he’s just discovered that he’s angry, too; angry at how _stupid_ all this was.   How _pointless_. _“…you…you said that was Colin’s blood? And that it was virgin blood?”_ How stupid can you be, really? There’s almost a tiny little vindictively gleeful piece of him as he presses a hand to his forehead and _answers_ their stupid, useless, _obvious_ question. _“Colin wasn’t a virgin!_ ” And there’s the pain again, sharp inside his throat and his chest. His voice quiets down a little. _“He wasn’t a virgin. He’d been with me.”_

            **Day 7.** He stands in front of Colin’s grave, not close enough to disturb the newly-turned earth, but close enough that a couple of tears plop down onto it before he can stop them. “So, um,” he says, and he kind of wishes he’d remembered to bring a handkerchief, because the whole face-covered-in-snot look is not really his best, but then this suit was a disaster to begin with anyway. “Um, I don’t really know how to talk to somebody who’s not here, and—and I guess we didn’t even really believe in the same things. I don’t know if it’s better or worse for the one of us who actually has a religion that talks about an afterlife to be, um, the dead one. Fuck, that sounds bad, doesn’t it?” He rubs a hand across his eyes. “I don’t know what to _say_ to you!” he bursts out. “I just—I just—I don’t know what you’d want to hear, I didn’t know you long enough, but I really—I really liked you. I really, really, fucking—” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “I just figured I should tell you. That. You kind of saved the world? I guess having sex with some guy in the back of your car wasn’t really the most noble way to save the world, but if it works, don’t knock it, right?”

            Covering his face with hands, Rhine discovers he’s crying again, and the next minute, he’s sitting down at the graveside. “You saved the world,” he murmurs again. “And you changed mine. And I’ll never, ever stop being grateful for that.” With a sigh, he leans back against the side of the gravestone. The cemetery is very quiet. Peaceful. A breeze ruffles his hair. “At least we had a really great first time, right? At least—we had that.”

 

            **Day -2.** Rhine is overwhelmed by the sudden urge to giggle. Colin looks up at him, a little baffled, from under his dark lashes; he’s a rumpled mess, and the flush is still high on his cheekbones. “What?” he says, sounding a little defensive.

            “Just—” Rhine snorts. “We’re such a cliché. Do you realize we just lost our respective virginities in the back of a _car_?”

            “Yeah, in the parking lot of my _church_ ,” Colin groans. “Don’t _remind_ me.”

“At least it wasn’t at prom,” Rhine snickers.

            Colin looks sideways. “Hey, so I can’t, like, _officially_ ask you to prom,” he says. “But I wasn’t going to go anyway, so, do you wanna, like, hang out and watch movies that night?”

            Rhine’s breathing was just starting to equalize; now he finds himself sputtering a little again. “Did you just ask me on a _date_?”

            One eyebrow goes up. Colin runs a hand through his short hair. “I mean,” he says slowly. “Five minutes ago, we were f-fucking in the back of my car.” He stumbles a little over the obscenity but pushes onward. “I think we’re kind of past the point where this should be a shock.”

            Rhine takes a deep, happy breath, leans forward, and presses a deep kiss to Colin’s lips. “Okay. It’s a date.”

 

            **Day 7.** “I just wish we’d had more.”


End file.
